Hermione
by Ink Stained Wretch
Summary: Hermione has run away from Hogwarts and Severus Snape. But an odd message has them crossing paths again. Continuation of "Tension in the Laboratory".
1. Unexpected Message

Hermione stepped purposefully down one of the Ministry's many corridors. They had made her Head of the Committee on House Elf Civil Liberties! She could hardly believe it! If she could have, she would have hugged herself.

"Hello, Hermione." Percy Weasley cast an ingratiating smile her way from inside his office as she went by. Hermione sent a frostier version back and kept walking. She knew that at the least sign of encouragement, Percy would ask her out. She also knew her icy demeanor only made him view her as a pleasant challenge. But she couldn't bring herself to be warmer toward him. She hadn't forgotten his harsh assessment of Winky and house elves in general years ago. Anyway, she had enough Weasley men on her hands.

"Hullo, 'Mione." That would be Ron, stepping out of his office cubicle further down the hall. "How's HECL?"

Hermione stiffened at the Ministry's insider nickname for her committee. But then she forced herself to smile. After all, wasn't Ron the answer to all her problems now that she had resigned her post and run away from Hogwarts and Severus Snape? "Brilliant! Thanks, Ron."

"How about lunch later today? There's a trolley from Ireland's Own just outside the cafeteria."

"Oh." Lunch at the trolley, as usual. Resentful impatience surged up in her. It wasn't as if Snape had ever taken her out ("Not when everything had to be so bloody secret," she reminded herself), but still, she'd been hoping for a little more imagination from Ron.

"Yeah. Super," she said weakly. "See you then." She continued walking toward her office, her mood considerably deflated.

She'd only been at the Ministry for two weeks, and already, she knew she never wanted to leave. It wasn't the people. The Ministry had in its employ the most stubborn, willful, egotistical, and power-hungry witches and wizards in the United Kingdom. And those were just the Hufflepuffs. Everyone else was much worse. Hermione didn't care. She relished working for a cause and fighting for it. She never doubted the truth of her mission. For that, she was already gaining admiration and acceptance.

Hermione's personal life had not enjoyed a similar upswing. She plunked herself down at her desk and stared moodily at a small photo of Ron set deep in an eye-level cubby. In the photo, Ron's expression changed from self-conscious to self-consciously grinning. Hermione sighed and pulled the photo facedown. She had thought the peacefulness she'd felt with Ron would be the serenity she had been searching for. Ron showed some spark at the Ministry, working for the Department of Ministerial Reorganization. "But let's face it," Hermione thought. "It's a bureaucrat's job." She felt no deep respect for it. And though Ron looked fairly hot these days, much like Bill in his pre-injury prime, he carried the air of the also-ran and the average.

Hermione allowed herself to remember her last conversation with Severus Snape.

_Weeks earlier_

Her bum was still been burning from her previous encounter with Snape. She knocked tentatively on his office door and pushed it open.

Snape was grinning evilly, all yellow teeth. But when he saw her, his smile disappeared and he looked guarded and defensive.

"Miss Granger." Not a question.

Hermione had been rehearsing what she would say to him and now she said it as quickly as possible. "I think it would be best if we stopped seeing one another." Funny way to put it when they had never officially been going out. " I don't think our, er, relationship has been…good for me. I think it's best we end it."

Snape looked as if he were considering a mildly interesting philosophical theory. "I see."

"Anyway," Hermione plowed on doggedly, "I'll be leaving soon. I've taken a job with the Ministry."

"Ahh. Weasley." He gave her a contemptuous look.

Hermione bit back a holier-than-thou rejoinder. "I'm not suited to teaching," she said mildly. "I want to work for the Ministry." And get as far away from you and this torture as I can, she added silently.

Snape turned his attention back to his books. He waved her away with one hand, as though she were an annoying fly. As Hermione left, she saw a round-eyed girl of about 14 loitering in the doorway.

"Ah, Miss Jones," she heard Snape say gleefully. "So good of you to make it. Please put on these gloves and take a flobberworm…"

Hermione had been all too happy to take her leave of Snape and Hogwarts. But now as she faced the prospect of days, weeks, months, not to say years of Ron Weasley… She sighed again and pushed Ron's photo deeper into the cubby.

She met Ron at the lunch trolley. "How's the reorganization coming?" Hermione asked around a mouthful of sandwich. The bread slices were stale and the cheese was rubbery.

"Good," Ron said. "I can't talk much about it. Wish Harry were here to help out."

"He seemed to be doing well at Gringotts."

"Ah, he won't stay there long," Ron replied knowingly. "He'll be an Auror, too. Snape can't hold him back forever."

"Snape was trying to help Harry," Hermione said, hoping it was true.

"Huh. You don't know that," Ron returned. He stuffed a handful of chips in his mouth. "Hey, these are pretty good, 'Mione. You should try some."

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Hermione said irritably. "And you're so sure that not being an Auror was bad for Harry?"

Ron swallowed hastily. "I wouldn't call taking away his life's goal good," he said.

"Snape must have had a reason."

"Yeah," Ron said warmly. "Spite. Unfairness. Sadism. I can think of lots of reasons."

Hermione glowered. At the same time, she felt cozy. Bickering with Ron always reminded her of her parents' relationship. She couldn't help smiling at Ron with a special, shared smile. He was just like home, like a favorite sweater. Ron smiled back. He really was almost handsome when he smiled, Hermione thought. She noted his big blue eyes with their thick lashes, his enviously unspotted complexion, the freckles fading, and his laughing mouth. Why can't I want him more? Hermione thought.

"Say, 'Mione, let's go out tonight. There's a band playing at Imperio This tonight—Hedwig and the Angry Splinch—" Hermione burst out laughing. "Yeah," Ron went on, chuckling a bit himself. "But George says they're pretty good. So can I collect you around 8?"

"Sure," Hermione said, still laughing. But a note of foreboding sounded deep in her heart.

It was 2 a.m. when Hermione and Ron Apparated from Imperio This to the deserted alley near her flat. George had been right—the band was good. But Hermione caught herself more than once thinking about Snape. "That's your past," she had reminded herself severely. "Here's your future." And she would smile tightly at Ron.

Now, in the alley, there was an awkward silence as Ron began to escort her to her doorway. He kept close by her side. Too close. Hermione wished they could keep their more usual friendly distance. Her heart pounded louder and louder as they got nearer to her threshold. Once there, she managed to smile up at Ron's familiar face. Guilt overwhelmed her. He was so…("nice?" her inner voice said maliciously).

Ron bent down. It was a long way to bend, as he now towered over almost everyone. He put his hand on her shoulder ("that's nice," Hermione thought) and put his lips on hers ("still nice") but then—("agh!") Ron more or less thrust his tongue between her teeth. Apparently someone in his past ("Lavender, no doubt") thought this move was exciting. Hermione willed herself not push him away. She endured the onslaught for a few seconds, then pulled her head back and said as tactfully as possible, "Maybe we could try it with a little less…er, tongue."

Ron's ears began to turn red. Bad sign. Uh-oh, Hermione thought.

"Oh," he said. He bent again and pushed his lips, now firmly closed over his hard teeth, against her mouth. Hermione tried to find some measure of pleasure in the kiss, but there was none.

"Maybe it's up to me," she thought. She relaxed her lips and pressed them gently to his, then licked the corner of his mouth with the very tip of her tongue.

Ron took a deep breath and began licking her mouth. Hermione felt her insides recoil. She forced herself to give him another gentle kiss, then pulled back and managed to smile.

"I have to get up early tomorrow," she said.

"Oh. Oh, yeah." Ron looked at her searchingly, but seemed reassured by her smile. "Yeah. Me, too. So, er, see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, see you tomorrow, Ron." She touched his arm. He smiled again, and she watched him back up a few steps before Disapparating. The afterimage of his smile seemed burned on her eyelids. With a heavy sigh, Hermione tapped her door with her wand ("Alohomora") and stepped inside.

Pushing thoughts of Ron away, she began reviewing her efforts at the Ministry on behalf of House Elves. Winky and Dobby had agreed to help her, and she would be meeting with them tomorrow. As she reviewed what she wanted to say to them, she heard a tapping on her window. Her head snapped up, wand out.

Hopping on her windowsill was a large raven.

"Shoo!" Hermione said. The raven didn't move. It pecked sharply at the window with its beak. "Shoo!" Hermione said again, waving her arms. The bird flapped its wings and gave her an icy glare. It held up a foot. On it, Hermione saw a roll of parchment. She sucked in her breath, ran across the room, and opened the window. The bird flew in and perched on her headboard. "Not there!" Hermione wailed. The bird favored her with another glare and flapped to her table, where it began searching for stray crumbs. Hermione groaned. Just what she needed: bird droppings on her table. "Shoo! Down!" The bird fluttered to a side table and perched on her lamp. Hermione sighed. "Right. Let me get you some food." She rummaged through the refrigerator and found an old roll, which she put on a napkin on the floor. The raven flew down from the lamp and began pecking at the roll hungrily. It didn't seem to mind when Hermione untied the parchment. She unrolled it nervously.

There, in familiar slashing pen strokes, was written:

_Hermione—_

_I promised you some time ago that I had something for you. _

_Regardless of our estrangement, I urge you to keep this token with you. It works much like the coins you used with the DA. The difference is, if you use a simple summoning charm while holding it, you can force me to Apparate to wherever you are. _

_Not all threats are known._

_Burn this._

_The Half-Blood Prince_

Hermione looked down at the ground. There, winking in her cream-colored carpet, lay a thin silver ring with an inset green stone.


	2. New Girl

Hermione picked up the ring. It was small, silvery, and so plain and fine that she knew it was goblin-made. Set seamlessly into the metal was a gem the color of Harry's eyes. Hermione closed her fist around it.

_He's out of my life._

_He still cares._

_He's out of my life._

_I still care._

_I left him—he did things to me. I hate him for it. He made me feel things I don't want to feel. He treated me in ways I should hate. _I _want to be the one issuing orders! And he wants total control…_

_I still care._

_(Just a little, _her inner voice whispered._ Maybe it's not so bad. Maybe I can still pretend it's nothing.)_

She slid the ring onto the fourth finger of her right hand. It wouldn't go past the knuckle. Its owner, or intended owner, must have had slim fingers. Hermione regarded her own serviceable digits. Then she slid the ring onto her little finger. Too big. She turned and rummaged through her top dresser drawer until she emerged with a tarnished silver necklace her parents had given her for her sixteenth birthday. After removing the Sweet16! pendant; she threaded the chain through the ring and fastened it around her neck. Ye gods! she thought. The necklace had lengthened somehow and now the ring was nestled between her breasts. Hermione tried shortening the necklace in a variety of ways, but realized at last that the ring must carry properties of which she wasn't aware.

She lit fire in her palm and burned Snape's letter. Then she fetched quill and parchment and scribbled:

_In receipt of your letter. I have your something with me. _

_--Hermione_

She sniffed, nose in the air, as she finished. Let him stew about her curt tone. Not even an apology! She felt she was due one.

She tied the parchment to the raven's proffered legs and let it out the window.

To her great surprise, two more owls landed on her windowsill as the raven flapped off. One of them was snowy white.

"Hedwig!"

The snowy owl preened a feather and fluffed her wing.

"Come in!"

Hedwig and a golden owl flew into Hermione's flat and sourly surveyed the raven's crumbs.

"Wait! I'll get you something!" Hermione hurried to the kitchen and got a piece of bread, which the owls ate gratefully. The golden owl had great, amber eyes and was significantly larger than Hedwig. As the owls ate, Hermione untied the message on Hedwig. It ran:

_Dear Hermione,_

_Sorry I was such a prat at Hogwarts._

_Anyway, will Ginny and I see you and Ron at the Yule Ball? We'd like to get together with you at Hogsmeade._

_-Harry _

Hermione felt a twinge of pleasure at his apology. He really hadn't had to say anything. She knew he'd come around—not that she expected him to like Snape any better than before. But dread and guilt—unfamiliar emotions—washed over her when she read the second part of the message. She remembered her last Yule Ball. Ron had been at his sulky and passive worst. She was not anxious for a repeat.

Biting her lip, she opened the second message, tied to the mysterious golden owl, and read:

_Dear Hermione,_

_As you may know, the Yule Ball approaches. As Hogwarts Headmaster, I would like to extend a warm invitation for you to join us Christmas Night for the festivities. As faculty emeritus, you may bring a guest._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

_P.S. I understand you are doing some work on house elves. You may have need of these items._

_P.P.S. The second one opens as needed._

Hermione looked around in confusion. What items? Then she saw them, two squares, one white and one golden, stuck somehow to the parchment. The first one unfolded under her fingers and became a heavy tome with a scarred leather cover. _A Magycal Hystorie of the Malfoy Familie by An Observer._ Curious, Hermione thumbed through a few pages and quickly found herself losing track of time. The book appeared to be hundreds of years old and charted the rise of the Malfoys from an obscure but ambitious family to a powerful dynasty whose influence rose with each advantageous marriage. Toward the back of the book, on a foldout page that looked almost untouched, was a scheme of Malfoy Manor, which appeared to have been more of a defensive structure when the book was written. Hermione blinked when she saw the scheme rise up, floating several inches off the page, showing the subterranean chambers and passages beneath the mansion and several secret entrances. Carefully, she refolded the page, closed the book, folded it back to its tiny proportions and stuck it first in her sock, then on reflection, into her knickers along her hip.

Then she unstuck the second square. This one also unfolded, but into a razor-thin gold rectangle the size of a playing card. Hermione turned it over and over, but all she saw was its cryptic golden surface, shiny and unmarked. She tried speaking to it, stroking it, tapping it with her wand, pushing it, attempting to bend it (it proved unbendable), throwing it, singing to it (she winced at her off-key voice), and finally begging it. But the golden rectangle remained as enigmatic as ever. At last she folded it back up and put it with the first square. Both were about the size and thickness of her fingernail.

Sighing, she took up quill and parchment.

_Dear Professor,_

_Thank you for your kind invitation. I would be delighted to come!_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Hermione_

She attached the message to the golden owl and opened the window for him to fly out. She thought it best to be ambiguous about the identity, if any, of her guest. She was more inclined to go alone than to take someone. But how could she get out of taking Ron? Especially with Harry and Ginny expecting her to take him? And how would the Weasley family in general respond to her hot and cold treatment of Ron? Not well, she was sure. She sighed again.

_Dear Harry,_

_I'd love to see you and Ginny at Hogsmeade! Does noon Christmas Day suit you?_

_-Hermione_

She watched Hedwig fly off with her ambiguous message, knowing that Harry and especially Ginny would see it for what it was. She could picture Ginny's furious face when she read it. Well, that was the end of Harry and Ginny. It seemed as if her social circle got smaller and smaller the longer she was out of school.

She undressed, pulled her dowdy nightdress over her head, and climbed into bed.

The next morning Hermione strode through the hall of the Ministry, parchment scrolls in hand, to meet with Winky and Dobby about drafting a new piece of legislation. Hermione wanted to mandate that house elves be given wages. At the very least, she wanted to mandate the house elves be freed from having to obey their masters' every command. As she strode down the black-walled corridor, lit from candles in wall sconces, she noticed a young woman in deep conversation with Lucius Malfoy. The git! she thought furiously. Malfoy was leaning indolently on a thick metal staff, its head shaped like a cobra. His white-blond hair was combed off his forehead, revealing flawless, arrogant features little touched by time.

The girl in front of him had hair the same color as his, but there the resemblance ended. She was thin and nervous, a pair of dark, frightened eyes dominating her heart-shaped face. Her hair was cropped short and stuck up in platinum spikes, each of which was tipped in pale pink. She was wearing what the Muggles would call a black leather catsuit with a belt hanging low on her hips, and leather boots that came just above the knee. In spite of this adventurous getup, she looked nervous and uncertain, standing in front of Malfoy and whispering to him. As Hermione went by, she shut up, and she and Malfoy watched Hermione until she was out of earshot.

Hermione spied Ludo Bagman headed the other way, five parchment airplanes hovering over his head and a sheaf of parchment under his arm. His robes could not quite conceal the beer belly protruding from what must have been a fine Quidditch form at one time. Ludo's normally cheerful face looked troubled.

Hermione grabbed his arm as he neared her and tugged him into a cross-corridor. "Who's that?" she said in a low voice.

"The blond? Barty's kid. Would you believe he had another? Squib, apparently."

"She's a Squib?"

Ludo nodded. "She's been raised by the Muggles as a foster-child, poor kid. Doesn't know much about the magical world."

"Why's she back here?"

Ludo shrugged uncomfortably. "Maybe Barty wants to make amends or something. Brought her back. Right mistake, I'd say. She couldn't accio an ashtray if you paid her a Galleon. Scared of her own shadow, too."

"Poor thing."

Bagman tsked at her. "Don't feel too sorry for her. As you can see, she has friends in high places."

"Well, what's she doing here?"

Bagman looked uncomfortable again. "Dunno." At Hermione's skeptical look, he said, "Look, Hermione, she's a bit of trouble, that one. Barty's trying to put her in the right track, see?"

Hermione frowned. "What kind of trouble?"

"Well, look at her!" he said in exasperation. "What do you think she's up to in those clothes?"

"Half of Puddlemere United? How should I know?"

Bagman held up a finger as if she'd scored. "Ten points! And you said you didn't like Quidditch! Yeah, she's, er, a bit of a handful, it seems. Barty's got her on the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee. Muggles she knows."

"Well, what's she doing talking to Lucius Malfoy?" Hermione continued in a fierce whisper.

Bagman paled and pulled himself up. "Must go. Talk later about HECL." Out of the corner of his mouth, he said, "Later." Then he strode away, leaving Hermione to stare after him, but not for long.

"Problems finding your office, Miss Granger?"

It was Lucius Malfoy, sneering down at her, both his hands clasping the cobra head of his staff, his perfect features set in lines of contempt.

"Not at all," Hermione said with dignity and started back down the proper corridor toward her office.

As she walked away, she heard Malfoy jeer, "I hear you're into house elves and the youngest of the Weasley litter." His derisive laugh seemed to follow her all the way to her office.


	3. The Wormhole

Hermione entered her cubicle and lit the thick candle on the corner of her desk. The whole office was lit by candles floating in mid-air. Several wizards shared the space with her.

Brant Walker had wind-blown blond hair, disarmingly candid blue eyes, and a cat-like body. Hermione avoided him. She knew about his bet with another handsome wizard, dark-haired Laurie Hughes, about how many witches they could shag before Christmas.

Then there was Philomena Potts, an aging witch whose regal nose and gray-streaked bob proclaimed a former handsomeness. She sat on the Wizengamot. Hermione knew her to be a fair, if harsh, judge. Philomena's imperious ways had caused her to run afoul of several Ministers for Magic, which led eventually to her losing her private office and being forced to share this windowless space with low-level Ministry employees such as Hermione.

Deep in a corner was Simon Putnam. He had clean, even features and a helpful air. Hermione didn't know him well, but found him pleasant.

"Hermione Granger," said a high-pitched voice. Hermione started and nearly upset her inkwell.

Peering over the edge of her desk with fist-sized eyes was Dobby.

"Dobby is sorry. Dobby didn't mean to startle Hermione Granger," the elf said. "Winky cannot come today. Her is still not sure about HECL." The house elf looked ashamed. He was wearing five pairs of socks, each pair rolled down to reveal the pair beneath, a chartreuse waistcoat that Hermione recognized as coming from a Muggle dress-me doll, and a pair of enormous white boxer shorts with the words "I'm feeling lucky" embroidered across the front. At first, Hermione wasn't sure she saw the words correctly. She leaned forward to view them more closely, and her necklace swung free of her robes.

"Where is Hermione Granger getting that ring?" Dobby asked in a strange voice.

"Fr—" Caution shut Hermione's mouth. "I can't say," she said in alow voice, looking at her office mates. "Have you seen it before?"

"Dobby has seen it," the elf said reluctantly.

Hermione could only stare. "How did you see it?"

The elf squirmed and looked around. "Dobby has no master now. Dobby can tell. But Dobby cannot tell," he said.

"You can tell," Hermione urged.

"Dobby cannot," he repeated. "Not here, Hermione Granger."

Hermione thought he looked darkly in Brant's direction, but it was hard to tell. The others sat in his general vicinity. Brant riffled one hand through his hair and pretended to keep reading a huge volume of wizard law. Philomena glared at Hermione and made a tapping noise with her quill. Just beyond her, Simon was scrawling what appeared to be a long grant application on a roll of parchment.

"I've drafted this regulation to present to the Minister of Magic," Hermione said finally. "Will you read it and tell me what you think?"

"Dobby cannot read, Hermione Granger, and besides, the Minister of Magic is—" he shuddered convulsively and whispered—"_Imperiused._"

"I know," Hermione said crossly. "But he doesn't care about house elves, does he? So he might still approve something."

Dobby only stared at her with his lantern-like eyes.

"Well, here's how it reads," Hermione said. "Whereas the house elves live in a state of abject servitude and whereas they must put their masters' needs above their very lives and whereas—"

"That'll never be approved," came a booming voice.

Hermione's head snapped up. Philomena Potts was glowering at her. "No one will approve that regulation. We need house elves," the aging witch said with finality.

"All the same—" Hermione began.

But Philomena flicked her hand at Hermione. "You have no idea what you're proposing. Wizardkind must have elves. You only got this job because you made nice to the Weasleys. You should go back home and study law."

Old bat, Hermione thought. Nothing will make her happy except feeling superior to others. She gave Philomena a thin smile and said to Dobby, "Let me see you out."

Once in the corridor, Hermione tapped Dobby's shoulder and said, "Follow me."

She led him through what appeared to be solid wall into a tunnel only as high as Hermione was tall and just wide enough for them to pass single file. Floating candles lighted their way. Hermione ran her fingers over the wall, and when she came to the spot, she said, "_Alohomora_." A door opened, and she led Dobby into a bare but serviceable room equipped with a desk and chairs.

"The Ministry won't give me a better office, but they have all these unused ones about," Hermione groused. Dobby took a seat gingerly. "Now, please tell me, Dobby. Where did you see this ring before?"

Dobby turned his enormous eyes on her again. "Once, Hermione Granger, my master took me to a place called Spinners End."

Hermione felt herself jerk forward.

"Dobby's master took him," the elf continued. "Dobby's master was going away. Dobby's master had a friend. The friend needed help from a house elf. Dobby's master told him to serve his friend as if he were Dobby's own master."

If Hermione had been on the edge of her seat before, she was positively holding her breath now. "What was this friend like?"

"Master Snape was a good master," Dobby said soberly.

"Oh, Dobby! You'd say that ab—"

"Master Snape was a good master," Dobby repeated doggedly.

"Good how?" Hermione couldn't help asking.

"Master Snape was pleased with Dobby's work."

"He can't have been _nice_," Hermione protested.

"Dobby cleaned and cooked carefully for Master Snape. Master Snape was pleased," the elf insisted.

"All right," Hermione said, feeling puzzled. She wasn't sure she had ever seen Snape truly pleased. "But what about the ring?"

Now Dobby looked fearful. "Dobby saw it in the wormhole."

"What's that?"

The elf tried for several minutes to explain it, but finally he said, "Dobby is sorry, Hermione Granger. The house elves just calls it the wormhole—the place between times and places. Dobby was cleaning Master Snape's house and found it."

"What's wrong with it?" Hermione asked apprehensively.

"Dobby does not know, Hermione Granger. Dobby could not touch it, could not get close to it. Dobby would feel an invisible wall each time he tried to touch it."

"Is it bad?"

Dobby shuddered. "Dobby only knows it is very powerful, Hermione Granger."

Hermione sat back. Clearly, there was nothing to be gained by pressing Dobby further. She took him back outside the Ministry to the phone booth, from which he promptly Disapparated. Hermione lingered a moment in the graffiti-smeared booth, observing the huge dents in the phone, which appeared to have been made by a large, blunt object. Two frightening prospects yawned before her. She had to get a dress for the Yule Ball and endure seeing her ex-fiance and ex-boyfriend, both of whom bore deserving grudges against her. She would have to look dignified and even content, happy, while attending the Ball on her own. And after that, clearly, she would have to visit Malfoy Manor.

She turned in place and looked up at Diagon Alley and located Madam Malkin's. With a sigh, she trudged toward the shop.

Madam Malkin was pinning a voluminous purple creation on a plump, middle-aged witch when Hermione walked in. Madam Malkin, her mouth full of glittery pins, nodded in Hermione's direction as she walked in. "…and I want it higher. Higher!" commanded the plump witch. "You aren't doing it right!" Hermione walked toward the back of the shop so as not to hear the witch any more. She reminded Hermione of Philomena Potts.

The sale rack was in the back, and Hermione began rifling through it with no high hopes: a black robe with silver tinsel hanging from it on pulled-out threads, something pea green in crushed velvet, a cheaply made orange number that plunged to the waist…

"I have to look good, but not too good," Hermione thought. "I just have to blend in and hope that no one notices me."

…another black robe but this one with two blue circles centered over each breast. Hermione winced. A loud red robe with white lace drooping in the neckline and sleeves, a white robe gathered into a bustle in back with a huge bow affixed over the bum, a burnt-sienna robe with fake jewels winking gaudily across the bust… Hermione felt herself groan. Why were robes made for the very young or very tasteless?

"This one, dear?" someone said.

Hermione looked up. One of Madam Malkin's assistants was holding out a carefully tailored number in forest green. Without letting her hopes get too high too fast, Hermione said, "How much?"

"Fifty galleons."

Hermione felt her heart sink. She could afford it, but it was twice what she had hoped to pay for a robe she would likely wear one time. She looked at the assistant, a tough-looking old witch with a jaded expression on her face. Hermione gave her a pleading look, but the assistant tightened her mouth and said nothing.

"All right," Hermione said reluctantly.

She went up to the front of the shop and allowed Madam Malkin to move around her, pinning, adjusting and from time to time, issuing orders ("turn," "bend to the right," "lift your arms"). Madam Malkin at last waved her wand, and the dress altered itself to specification, and Madam Malkin popped it into a some kind of protective wrapper.

Feeling relieved but somehow empty, Hermione strode back out into Diagon Alley and Disapparated to her flat. She put away the new robe. Crookshanks rubbed her legs, to Hermione's surprise. She hadn't seen the cat for months. She suspected some other young witch with a more interesting life and a better class of cat treats and drawn the animal's attention. She petted Crookshanks, gave him some food, and pulled out _A Magycal Hystorie of the Malfoy Familie. _

Now all she had to do was wait until dark.


	4. Nearly Caught

The evening was dreary, wet, and dark. Heavy clouds hung in the air, and freezing rain lashed the trees and windows. Hermione doggedly pulled on a black sweater, black jeans, black shoes, and then shoved the mass of her hair under a black knit cap. She looked outside again glumly. If anything, the freezing rain picked up. Hermione heard hail hitting the window. She put on a dark winter coat and pulled up the hood. Then she shoved the gold square and the white square in her jeans pocket. Crookshanks was curled in front of her radiator in the glow of a floor lamp, purring and from time to time kneading the hot metal with his paws. Hermione patted his ugly head, and he looked up at her through pleasure-slitted eyes before closing them again.

Well, there was nothing for it. Hermione exited her flat and looked around. Not a living thing was in sight. She turned in place and found herself outside the Malfoy grounds, hidden behind some foliage near the wrought-iron front gates. The rain and hail had let up, but cold water dripped from everything. Hermione opened the white square until it became the book, then turned to the map. Hermione decided to go around back, which would put her several miles from the mansion. She looked around. A lost and lonesome wind riffled the foliage. The mansion stood silent, unwelcoming, and empty. Hermione Apparated to the back of the grounds. Now she stood against the fence with a view of the rolling, severely landscaped grounds. Hermione imagined house elves trimming the shrubbery every day. Sheets of mist blew across the land. She looked left, then right, then Apparated to just inside the fence. No sense in trying to climb it. It was two meters high with no handholds or footrests. She took several steps cautiously forward.

Suddenly, a form materialized from the mist. Hermione froze. A big-boned rangy man came into view. To Hermione's horror, he seemed to have been waiting for her. He was wearing shabby, torn clothes, smeared and spattered with some rust color. He raised thick, yellowed, curling fingernails, caked with gore, to his mouth. And then he parted his lips. Hermione saw pointed incisors. He licked his nails slowly, obscenely. And then he smiled at Hermione with all his teeth. Fear surged through every particle of Hermione's being. Her legs wanted to sprint across the grounds, and she kept a fierce lid on the desire. Slowly, careful to keep Fenrir in view all the time, she backed up to the fence. When she felt its solidness behind her, she Disapparated to just outside it and continued backing away. Fenrir just watched her. When she got a bit farther away, he pointed upward. Hermione glanced quickly in that direction. The moon was shining, a skullcap in the sky. Then Hermione knew she had to leave at once. She backed up several more steps. Fenrir made a strange growling noise. Just as he began to charge, Hermione Disapparated to the alley outside her flat. Her breath was coming in gasps. She stumbled up the steps to her flat and threw herself inside.

Once within her own place, she babbled all the protective spells she knew, peeling off her wet clothes as she did. She put a kettle on and soon sat by the radiator wearing nothing but a wool blanket and wool socks, sipping boiling tea and thinking over the evening's work. She would have to try again. She just couldn't get over how Fenrir seemed to be waiting for her. Almost as if she were…expected.

That night she dreamt of Snape. He was talking to her, but she couldn't hear him. She felt desire, guilt, and apprehension. Then she felt his lips on hers. "Everything will be all right," she thought.

The telephone jangled in her ear. Hermione kept a Muggle phone for her parents' sake. "H-hullo. Oh, hullo, Mum," she mumbled, trying to make her jumbled senses come together. "Yes. Everything's super. Oh, well, working hard. No young wizards right now, Mum. No time. Now please—please, Mum, Dad, don't bicker. Don't— Please—" Hermione held the phone away from her ear. Same old, same old. "So, yes. Yes, I'll come on holiday. Skiing again? I thought that wasn't really our thing. Oh. Not really _my_ thing. All right then. Skiing. Yes. Yes. All right then. I have to get to work. Must go. Yes. Good-bye, Mum." Hermione hung up, sighed, and threw on her work robes.

A short time later she was back in the Ministry, wending her way down the corridors toward her office. She wanted even less than usual to see Philomena Potts.

"Hullo, 'Mione."

She groaned internally.

"Hi, Ron," she said brightly, turning to see Ron's face, white under his red blush, the blue eyes both soft and angry at the same time. Witches and wizards streamed past Hermione as she came to a halt by Ron's office. Here it comes, she thought.

"So, erm, I'm taking you to the Yule Ball, right?"

"No," she said in a low voice. "I'm going alone."

"W-what?!" he squawked.

"Listen, Ron, I've done the wrong thing by you."

"Bloody right!" People stared as they passed by.

"I do care for you, Ron. I really do--"

"Really?" he cut in sarcastically.

"—I _do!_" she said fiercely. "But it just isn't working as, er, a boyfriend-girlfriend thing."

Ron glowered at her, every bit of skin above his robes glowing red. "You just wanted this job."

"No! It has nothing to do with that!"

"You just used me to get this job."

"Ron, that isn't true!"

"I can take it back, you know! I can get my dad to have you sacked!"

"Ron—"

"Or maybe," his face took a mock-thoughtful expression, "you don't really like blokes. Maybe it's birds you really like."

Hermione could only stare at him.

"Yeah, maybe that's what I'll tell all the blokes here."

"Ron, you know that isn't true, and if you spread that lie, you're just showing what an insecure prat you are!"

"Yeah, well, see you around, Hermione." And Ron spun on his heel and stalked into his office. The door slammed in Hermione's face.

She walked off with resignation, ignoring the gaping crowd around her.

Wanting solitude, she ducked into one of the hidden corridors and began quietly picking her way through the narrow tunnel.

"—don't suspect anything."

A young woman's voice. Hermione halted.

"Very good." Lucius Malfoy's unmistakable drawl. "Get them thinking about Potter again. Tell Rita Skeeter there's a shagging pool at the Ministry, and that Potter's winning."

"Potter doesn't work at the Ministry," the young woman pointed out sulkily. Hermione thought she recognized the voice of the Squib girl.

"Yes, well, tell Rita he's an honorary participant. Tell her any damn thing. I don't care. Just keep the focus on Potter. And now, how about your focus, Nichola?"

"Good as ever, Mr. Malfoy."

Hermione heard the rustle of robes, then a man exhaling in pleasure. And then she heard the hums and knowing giggles and a slurping noise. Hermione turned in place and made her way silently out of the tunnel.

It was Dec. 22. She had to know what the map was supposed to lead her to and what the Malfoys were hiding. She would have to try Malfoy Mansion again. Tonight.


	5. The Yule Ball

The temperature dropped sharply that evening. By the time Hermione emerged from the bowels of the Ministry at 5 p.m., the darkness was as smothering as the cold was piercing. She Apparated at once to her flat. She would have to wait until she could be reasonably sure the Malfoys were asleep before exploring the subterranean passages in the mansion. Dumbledore's gifts made it clear that he expected nothing less from her. Maybe he had sent Harry other gifts. Hermione pulled on dark clothes again and waited. She had a plan.

When the moon was high and sharp, a glowing disk in the watery black sky, Hermione Apparated to just below the hill on which Malfoy Mansion stood. Hermione knew that Muggles couldn't see the house—they only saw what appeared to be a softly sloping hill densely covered with brambles. But Hermione could see the manor's pale stone walls with their dark windows rising smoothly from the immaculate lawn. She thought she could see a figure with Fenrir's loping gait prowling the perimeter of the grounds.

She knew what she was about to do violated wizard protocol. Etiquette strictly forbade Apparating onto the grounds of a witch or wizard's home. She also knew that no one would think of her Apparating onto the Malfoys' roof. Taking a deep breath, she turned in place—and slammed backward into the ground. Her breath came out in a rush and for several minutes, she could only gasp, trying to breathe again. She had been expected, again. And so had her method. When she finally was able to stand, she yanked out her necklace and fumbled at the clasp. The clasp refused to budge. A low, furious buzzing filled Hermione's head. She Apparated back to her flat, fuming.

On Christmas Day just before noon, she Apparated into Hogsmeade. Her robes, accessories, nightclothes, toiletries, a change of clothes, and Dumbledore's two squares were packed into a tiny purse, which she had stuffed in her sock. She took a booth in The Three Broomsticks to await Ginny and Harry. The pair came in, glowing. Hermione glanced at Ginny's hand at once. Yes, no question about it. On the fourth finger of her left hand Ginny was sporting a large emerald surrounding by glittering stones. Hermione had known Harry was rich, but seeing the evidence thus displayed still took her breath away.

She grinned at them and waited. Harry cleared his throat. "Hermione, erm, Ginny and I are, er, engaged."

Hermione made the expected exclamations and oohed and ahed over Ginny's ring. It was even more beautiful up close. They ordered a round of fire whiskey in celebration. While the fiery shot forged a burning path through her insides, Hermione told Harry about Dumbledore's letter. His smile vanished. "Can I see it?"

"You have your cloak?" Hermione murmured.

Harry pulled it out of an inside coat pocket and quickly threw it over his and Ginny's heads. Now Hermione appeared to be alone at the table. She pulled her purse out of her sock, shook the contents until she found the white square, then handed it surreptitiously to Harry.

After a few minutes, something pushed the square back into her hand. Then Harry and Ginny reappeared. Some Hogwarts pupils in the next booth did a double take. Harry looked grim. "He doesn't want me to go."

Hermione didn't know what to say. Their food arrived, and they spent the rest of the meal talking softly about what the gold square might be. Hermione promised to do some reading.

Afterward, they walked around Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley, killing time. They ate an early dinner, and after the sun had set, they headed toward Hogwarts. McGonagall had told them they might lodge in the Gryffindor guest wing, an area of the castle whose only staircase floated into contact with the floor as needed. Once inside her room, Hermione began to get ready for the ball.

Her first inkling that something was amiss came when she pulled on her robes. Her back felt much too chilled. She craned her neck around and couldn't stop herself from blinking. The back of the forest green robes, so high in Madam Malkin's shop, now plunged nearly to her buttocks. And the front—Hermione clapped her hands over it. More than a little cleft was showing. The chain of her necklace disappeared into that cleft. Hermione pulled the necklace wide, so that the chain went to the outside of each plumped-up breast, before disappearing into the dress. The fit of the robes had changed, too. Once so loose and flowing, they now hugged her hips and thighs, allowing her to walk only in small, swaying steps. The sleeves were long, as before, nearly to the floor and lined in white. The low buzz of fury, on hold since her aborted trip to Malfoy Mansion, now hummed in her ears again. She pulled her panty hose out of her purse, took them out of their package, and found to further astonishment that were not pantyhose. The package was clearly parked: Pantyhose. But what fell from the package were two thigh-high stockings. When she put them on, she found that they extended in silky film up her legs to a point just below each buttock. Hermione stared at this new development with further consternation and anger. She looked at her knickers, the usual dingy white schoolgirl affair. She could never wear such a thing now. She would have to go without. She slung on her shoes, but they had changed, too. Gone were the low heels and sensible closed toes. What sparkled on each foot had peep toes, high heels, and discreet gemettes.

Hermione's hands were shaking as she applied liberal amounts of Sleekeazy's hair potion. She was so angry, she had to twirl her hair three times around her wand before she got it right and could pin it in place.

She took one last look in her purse and came out with a long, forest green shawl, lined in white. She drew a sigh of relief. At least there had been some mercy. With the shawl on, the back of the gown was concealed. And, if she clutched the shawl with one hand at her chest, the revealing front was hidden, too. Hermione wished fruitlessly for a pin of some sort to hold the careful folds together.

She dithered in her room until Harry and Ginny knocked at her door. She couldn't put the moment off any longer. She would have to face both Snape and Ron, and she dreaded both meetings. The trio descended into the Great Hall. Ginny was wearing rich brown velvet, with transparent sleeves and embroidery on the front. Harry was wearing black dress robes of the typical type. It looked as though they were the same type of robes that Mrs. Weasley had helped him buy six years before.

The Great Hall was already filled when they reached it, walking a bit more slowly than usual to accommodate Hermione's slower pace.

"The Weasley wasn't good enough, Potter, so you had to get another?" came a sneering voice. It was Draco Malfoy, wearing deep green robes with silver lining. Pansy Parkinson sniggered at his side, wearing a diamond as large as her knuckle on the fourth finger of her left hand and a frilly affair in an unflattering shade of coral. Hermione met Draco's eye, then coolly put her nose in the air. After a pause, Ginny followed suit, and Harry managed to flash a smile full of teeth before they moved on. Hermione was gratified to see Draco's gape of amazement. He hadn't recognized her in a dress—again.

Unfortunately, her gaze then collided with Ron Weasley's. Hermione became so flustered at that point that she didn't hear Harry and Ginny urging him and Luna to join them. Then there was a long silence. Hermione looked around and saw that Ginny, Harry, and Luna were glaring at Ron. At last Ron, red from his collar to his hairline, said, "Er, Hermione, I'm, er, I said some things I didn't mean. Before. I would never—" Then his words tumbled out—"I'd never tell the blokes anything like, er, like what I said I would. You were right. I knew things weren't going the way they, er, should have. I was just—"

"You don't have to say it," Hermione cut in awkwardly.

"Er," Ron stuck out his hand, "mates?"

Hermione took the proffered hand, and they shook clumsily.

"Isn't that Professor Snape?" Luna broke in vaguely.

Hermione did her best not to whip her head around. It was Snape. He was holding a ruler in his hand and breaking apart a clinging couple with a bit more gusto than usual. Hermione looked away.

The evening proceeded much as Hermione remembered her last Yule Ball. Dumbledore introduced the band, Polly Juice and the Potions. The band came out—a woman with long purple-black hair and lips, and a white face fronting three spotty, gangly youths. As the three broke into an insane jam, the woman let out a trilling scream and launched into a song both freezing and scorching at the same time. Many couples went out on the floor to dance. Ginny dragged out Harry, and Luna, with considerably more trouble, forced Ron onto t he dance floor. Hermione grabbed a shot of fire whiskey from a passing tray and sipped it in generous swallows as she watched. Neville Longbottom then asked her to dance. She saw his own date, a shy but pretty witch, standing approvingly on the sidelines and guessed that Neville was asking her out of gallantry. She danced a bit with Neville, though she found her robes made true dancing impossible, and since she had to clutch her shawl, all she could really do was sway to the music. Luckily, the lights dimmed somewhere halfway through the song.

Hermione thanked Neville and secured another fire whiskey as Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Luna stayed on the dance floor for a slower number. Dumbledore was now dancing with the mannish Pomona Sprout, and Hermione had her first hunch that both of them were using this dance to disguise something, though she wasn't sure yet exactly what.

Then a low voice said, "So."

She didn't turn around. Anger and desire mixed painfully inside her, and she felt certain she would never be able to consume anything but fire whiskey. "Yes?" she said.

There was a slight pause. No doubt Snape was taking in the fact that she wasn't turning around. "Here is not the time or place," he said. "My office. After."

She seethed at his casual order that they meet on his turf, but nowhere else would do. "All right," she said.

She heard him start to sweep away. Then he said, "Your robes become you."

She could have smacked his face. "You ought to like them," she said between clenched teeth. "They're cut to your specifications."

There was another pause behind her. Then Snape's voice came low and cold, "My office. _After_."


	6. Snape and Hermione

Hermione thought that Yule Ball would never end. The Beauxbaton girls were out in force, all of them elegant and chic and a few with Veela blood. The Hogswart boys made fools of themselves over those girls, to Hermione's disgust. The Durmstrang contingent, on the other hand, marched around the Great Hall in furs and wool, looking fierce even when they were asking the way to the bathrooms. Hermione looked in vain for Viktor Krum. At last she overheard a Durmstrang boy explaining to an eager-looking Hogwarts girl that Viktor was helping to tame dragons in his native Bulgaria.

After Neville, no one asked Hermione to dance. She watched Malfoy expertly spin Pansy Parkinson around the floor and sneer in her direction. Ron let Luna lead him through what she called a Gundy-Gnome Step, but which Hermione thought looked an awful lot like a foxtrot. Harry performed a couple stiff slow dances with Ginny. When Ginny and Harry weren't dancing, which was often, to Ginny's annoyance, she and Hermione chatted.

At last, Polly Juice called for a break between sets. Hermione watched her slink her way over the bar, down two quick shots of fire whiskey, and attempt flirtatious banter with Severus Snape. Snape fixed her with an unreadable look and answered her in quelling tones. Polly then took another slug of fire whiskey, pushed out one hip, thrust out a bust already in serious danger of parting company with its skimpy confines, and said something in a direct tone. Snape paused. Please, Hermione thought, don't fancy her. You might not fancy me any more, but not her. I can't compete with that. Snape said three words to Polly, none of which Hermione could hear. Then he added something as an aside and swept away. Polly watched him go. Then she shrugged, adjusted her top, downed her third fire whiskey, and yelled to her band mates. Hermione exhaled. Polly leaped on the stage and launched into a song that seemed to stretch time, with words about something criminally vulgar and nothing in particular.

"I've had enough," Harry said, getting to his feet.

"Me, too," said Ginny. She stifled a yawn.

Hermione noticed Albus Dumbledore deep in conversation with a handsome younger wizard. Who does Dumbledore shag anyway? she thought idly. "I'm ready to go," she said.

The trio walked back to the guest wing, going slowly again as Hermione tried to disguise the sway of her backside and teetering height of her heels. They said good night and separated. Hermione shut the door with a sigh. It was over. But the next bit was still to come. She opened _A History of Magic_ by Bathilda Bagshot.

Two hours later, at 3 a.m., she teetered precariously down the corridors toward the Slytherin Dungeons. It was so late. She wasn't sure how long the Yule Ball had been over. The Great Hall was dark. Broken streamers, abandoned drinks and canapés, and the odd piece of cake littered the room. Hermione tiptoed past. Clutching a railing, she descended the steps to the Slytherin dungeons. Her heart was hammering. At last she stood in front of the oaken door of Snape's office. She took a deep breath, trying to slow her breathing, which was coming fast and shallow. Then she pressed her lips together and knocked. The door creaked open.

Snape turned and faced her. He was not sitting behind his desk, as usual, but seemed to have been pacing in front of the desk.

"I thought you wouldn't come," he said, sounding distracted.

"I'm here," Hermione said stiffly. She hoped he couldn't hear her heart pounding, although it seemed to be banging like a bass drum in her ears.

He nodded and looked away. He looked more haggard than she remembered. At last he said, "Hermione, what I did to you was unforgivable. But I ask your forgiveness, for that one strike."

At first, Hermione was pleased. He was begging forgiveness! She started to smile. Then his last sentence sank in. "'For that one strike?' What about the others?"

He regarded her down his nose. "Which ones? The ones you begged for more on?"

The low buzz of anger that had hummed in her head earlier now exploded. She sliced her wand up out of her robes, dropping her shawl. "Incar--!"

He flicked the hex away. "You're doing better than you used to," he said. "Try concentrating a little harder."

Helpless fury made her hand shake. He was going to lecture her while she tried to hurt him? "Petrificus--!"

He moved his wand almost lazily. "Not so good, that one."

"Stupe—" she began, letting him swing his wand in that bored way before gathering all her strength and yelling, "Expelliarmus!" Snape's wand flew out of his hand. His eyes snapped open. For the first time that night he looked afraid. Satisfaction spread like salve through Hermione.

"Compello!"

She still didn't know the counter-charm, and Snape's wand flew back to him. They stared at each other, both breathing hard now.

"You had no right to hit me at any time that night!" Hermione shouted.

Snape exhaled hard. "You were going to throw me over! Have you forgotten that bit?" His voice dropped. "For Weasley…" He turned away. "And I didn't hit you. I spanked you."

Anger exploded in her again. "It amounts to the same thing! You can't hit someone just because you can't order them about!"

She could hear his ragged breathing. Gradually, it slowed, until he had mastered himself. She thought that was the end of their relationship then, and she couldn't understand why the thought she make her want to cry. "You're right, of course," he said woodenly. "But please do me the honor of apologizing for planning to leave me without a single attempt to put things right."

Hermione sputtered with fresh rage. "I went along with everything you wanted! I said yes to your order to get married, no date, no ring—"

"What's that then?" he hissed dangerously, looking at her cleavage where the ring nestled inside her robes.

"A homing device and a bug!" she bit out.

Dead silence greeted this statement. For a moment, Hermione wasn't sure he understood her. She had used Muggle terms. Then she remembered he was half-Muggle, a memory reinforced when he leaned back slightly and said, "Ah."

"That's all you have to say? It's not even a ring you got for me! It belonged to some other witch!"

She searched his face, but his expression was difficult to read. At last he said, "You need looking after. You don't know what you're getting into at Malfoy Manor. What's made you decide to go there anyway?"

"You gave me the ring before I decided to go there! You just wanted to know how things were going to go with Ron!"

He arched an eyebrow at her and shrugged. "So?"

Hermione grit her teeth. "I'm sure you're happy about how things turned out there!"

"Yes, I am," he snapped. "And then you started these expeditions to places you shouldn't go. You've no idea what's in there. How did you ever expect to get in or out?"

Hermione wanted to show him the white square, but mulishly, she also wanted to punish him. "I just—"

"Don't lie," he said quietly. "You're not good at it, you know. What's happened? Has Dumbledore given you something?"

Hermione was so surprised, she said nothing.

After a pause, Snape said, "We need to get along, Hermione. We're fighting for the same side. I can help you."

"You're not on my side," she muttered.

He seemed at a loss, flexing his fingers at his sides. Then he stepped close and put his hand lightly on her exposed shoulder. "I am." He was so near, almost crowding her. She felt angry tears prick her eyes.

"I don't know how I can ever trust you again," she said tightly, to the floor.

She thought she heard him swallow. "What happened that night will never happen again—without your consent." He took her wrists in his hands.

Hermione looked down at their hands together and wished despairingly that she could turn time backward. "I know I should stay away," she said in a low tone. "I tried. But I know you're better than you pretend to be. You're braver, kinder." He made a disgusted noise, but her words tumbled out of her constricted throat. "This feeling just comes over me when I'm with you. I try to stop it. I know it's trouble. But … I want you so much."

Her words had a strange effect on him. She thought she could feel a tremor go through him. His hands tightened on her wrists, and he brought them to his forehead. He said in an odd voice, "I swear it, Hermione." For a moment Hermione didn't say anything, feeling the spreading warmth of elation.

"But," she said crisply, "things will have to change."

"Indeed," he said with heavy irony. "In future, if you please, don't try to leave me without airing your…dissatisfactions first."

Hermione all but ground her teeth. "Right. My dissatisfactions. Let's start with your ordering me about at every opportunity. Then we can move on to your making me promise to keep our—" She groped for a word. He raised an eyebrow. "—_affair_ secret. And then," now she was working up another head of steam, "there's no ring, no date, and your demand that no friends or family be at the wedding!"

He regarded her coolly. Then he said, "You're right."

"I—I am?"

"Yes. I've thought about this a long time. We can't keep things secret any more. Secrets are made to be found. And anyway, even if we could keep things from Hogwarts, and it would be a first, there's no way I could protect you if the Dark Lord used Legilimency on you. I thought about putting you under a spell something like an Imperio—"

"No! You can teach me Occlumency!"

"Hermione, even if you were the greatest Occlumens ever, and you've shown little aptitude that way, you'd be no match for the Dark Lord."

"Little aptitude—" Hermione seethed.

"I'm just stating facts." His fingers brushed her shoulder.

Slightly mollified, Hermione said, "What about a Pensieve?"

"Extremely rare."

"Dumbledore has one."

"Dumbledore is Dumbledore. And do you want us to be padding up to his office every night to put away inconvenient thoughts? No, there's a better way."

"W-what?" She was almost afraid to ask.

"We could tell the truth." She stared at him. He tilted his head back, his mouth twisting in a smile. "I'll tell the Dark Lord that you believe me to be working for Dumbledore." He looked away. "He'll find that most amusing."

"Maybe some Death Eaters will think it's the truth."

"Clever, as usual. But if, on that day when we face the Dark Lord, you deliver your view in the most insufferable tone you can muster, I think opinion will be on my side."

"Thanks," she mumbled resentfully.

"Hermione." She looked up, trying to hide her feelings. "I like you very well, very much. No, more than that. You mean more to me than—" He cleared his throat. "If you have some quality that makes our little story more believable to the Dark Lord, all to the better." His eyes were full on her, black and glistening. Hermione nodded slowly. "Now," his voice was low, "as I did order that gown to my specifications, perhaps I could see a bit more of it."


	7. A Bit of Revenge

Hermione turned her back on him, letting him get a long look at the dress, or the lack thereof, from that perspective

Hermione turned her back on him, letting him get a long look at the dress, or the lack thereof, from that perspective. The fire from the braziers licked her skin. She felt the thick silence on his end, and knew he was appreciating the view. She felt a faint spark of hope inside. But the wrong word from him, and she would snuff that spark forever. She could tell that little had changed between them, and she didn't think she could take more of this agonizing waiting and biding of time.

"Come to my rooms," he said. His hands were light on her bare shoulders.

Hermione gathered her courage. "Prof—Severus?"

"Yes?" The word came softer than she expected.

She cleared her throat nervously. "Nothing seems to have changed."

"Such as?" The voice carried a warning. Hermione remembered something from First Year, something about wanting to be careful of Snape—he could be very nasty.

"No ring. No date. And you're still ordering me around. And there's another matter."

"Now maybe we're coming to it."

"You're very unfair to Harry."

His light touch traced her spine down to the hollow of her back. "One row at a time, if you please. And that's not your real concern."

Hermione couldn't help turning her head to one side, even as his fingertip brushed lower and lower still until it came to the fabric of her gown, just above her buttocks. She felt a rush of wetness between her thighs and a swelling there. She closed her eyes and prayed he couldn't tell. "No," she managed softly. "I'm just not sure about you. Are you really good, or not? Could you ever be a little—nicer?"

He made an impatient sound. "We've been through this! I'm not nice, as you've pointed out. That's why I joined the Dark Lord to begin with."

"But you joined the Order. For her," Hermione added. He stayed silent and removed his hand. "Maybe it was just for her. Maybe I'm just the consolation prize, something to soften your loneliness. But maybe I'd be nothing to you if she were still here."

He still didn't answer, but she heard his breathing pick up anxious pace.

The silence stretched, thick and taut. "You know," Hermione said conversationally, "this has been too easy for you."

"What has?" he said warily.

"This. Me. I wanted you in the beginning, so it was easy for you to set the pace and give as little as possible. But now I think I want more. I think I deserve a little more than this—sneaking around and doing whatever you want whenever you want it."

This clearly was not the direction Snape had expected their meeting to go. He stammered a few phrases, but Hermione stepped forward, out of his reach. She slipped the gown off one shoulder, then slowly off the other. From the renewed silence behind her, she knew she had regained his full attention. The gown dropped to the floor. That left high heels and thigh-high stockings. Hermione peeked over her shoulder. There was no mistaking Snape's gobstruck look. He started to step forward, but she held up her wand. Snape reluctantly stayed put, though he looked highly interested as to what was coming next. Hermione's heart pounded in her ears. She pulled off the shoes slowly, strap by strap, then unrolled the stockings. Then she did two slow pivot turns under his glittering, black gaze, so that her back was again to him. Oh, this would be delicious.

"Now," she purred, or what she hoped was a purr—her heart was tripping so madly she could hardly keep the quaver out of her voice—"you let me know when you're ready to give me a little more respect. _Invisio!_"

And she nipped out the door, completely invisible. She stole a quick peek at Snape's face, even more astonished than previously, and nearly burst out laughing.

It was a good thing she had studied some of the books from Dumbledore's office. He had once said he didn't need an Invisibility Cloak to be invisible, and Hermione had found that it was true. Now, completely naked, she ran as quickly as she dared up the stone steps of the dungeon and to Gryffindor Tower. She half-hoped to hear Snape in close pursuit, but instead, to her leaden disappointment, she heard only his office door creak shut with a final slam of the bolt.

Late next morning, someone knocked softly and tentatively at Hermione's door. She got out of bed, having slept only four hours. The Sleekeazy's hair potion had worn off, and now her hair was sticking up at all angles. She was wearing her old flannel nightgown. She glanced in a mirror and turned away quickly. There was no getting around it—she looked awful. Hastily, she grabbed her pink bathrobe and opened the door.

Ginny stood there, her strawberry blonde hair flowing, her skin effortlessly clear, her clothes clean and pressed. Hermione wished desperately that she could freeze time and put on something else. Next to her, looking more cross than she had ever seen him before, stood Severus Snape.

"Erm," Ginny rolled her eyes uncertainly in Snape's direction, "we've come to go to breakfast with you."


	8. Packing

Some time later Hermione sat eating toast at the Head Table at Hogwarts, with an ominously quiet Severus Snape at her elbow

Some time later Hermione sat eating toast at the Head Table at Hogwarts, with an ominously quiet Severus Snape at her elbow. School was not in session, but because of the Yule Ball, many students and alumni had stayed the night and the house elves were serving breakfast. As a past teacher, Hermione could sit at the Head Table, and Dumbledore had invited the others to join them as well. Harry looked ashen. Ginny had confessed quietly that Harry's scar was bothering him again. This only served to make Snape look even more sour, if that were possible. It hadn't helped that he had been forced to wait in Ginny and Harry's room while Hermione showered and changed. Snape was now in the worst mood Hermione had seen him in since Gryffindor won the last School Cup.

After breakfast, Dumbledore rose and began to leave the hall. As he passed behind Hermione, he leaned in between her and Snape and said, "A word in my office, please. His blue eyes twinkled with a hard light.

Hermione was so surprised she could only stammer an affirmation and follow Dumbledore and Snape out of the Great Hall.

Some moments later, she stood with Snape in Dumbledore's familiar office. The headmaster made his way laboriously to his desk. He looked terrible. His face was tight and gray, and his wrinkles seemed to be consuming his very identity. He walked stiffly, and he was not smiling.

"We do not have much time," he said.

"Headmaster," Snape began, "let me—"

"But Dumbledore held up a bony hand. "There is no help, Severus, and no cure. Please don't pretend we're doing anything more than palliative care at this point."

Hermione's throat suddenly constricted until she wasn't sure she could breathe. Thick tears started in her eyes.

"We all know who is at Malfoy Manor now, I hope," Dumbledore said, fixing Hermione with a piercing stare. She nodded mutely, not daring to blink lest the tears fall. Voldemort was at Malfoy Manor. Who else could it be?

"I have armed you, Miss Granger, with two weapons I thought would help you get into the house, but I see now that no one but an insider can get in there now. So," here he paused, seeming to have to catch his breath.

"Sir—" Hermione began, desperate to help him.

"So," he cut across her pleasantly, "I'm sending Severus with you."

Hermione could only stare in stunned silence, her tears running unheeded down her cheeks.

"You'll have to go right away, as there are spies at the Ministry. Kitty Crouch, for instance." He gave Hermione another of his piercing looks, and Hermione noticed Snape's unreadable black eyes also on her. She nodded.

"I know about her," she said. "I saw her—with Lucius Malfoy once."

Dumbledore sighed. "Poor girl. A Squib, eager to show her father that she had some worth. It was easy for Lucius to bend her to his will. But there are other spies as well."

Hermione nodded again, slowly. "Simon Putnam. He's in my office. Keeps too quiet, knows everything I say or do. He knows I'm close to you and to Harry."

"Not to Severus, I trust?"

The words were said lightly, but Hermione felt herself blush. She shook her head, not daring to look Snape's way.

Dumbledore smiled at her benignly. "All will go as planned. I'll make your excuses at the Ministry. I am still head of the Wizengamot, and that has its uses. Severus?"

"Yes, Headmaster."

"You must go over to the Dark Lord and his followers. When will they come to try to take over Hogwarts?" He said the words casually, and Hermione felt her throat closing again.

"Soon," Snape bit out.

"The you must be there by tomorrow. This undertaking will involve a great deal of personal risk on your part. I shall have to trust and defer to your judgment on many matters, as will Miss Granger."

Snape nodded assent, took Hermione's arm, and swept out of the office. Hermione was full of questions, but she saved them. Snape pulled her down the moving spiral staircase and to the dungeons.

When they reached his office and the door had clanged shut with grim finality, he rounded on her. "Are you coming with me?"

His eyes glittered, avid yet difficult to read. Hermione's throat was still constricted. Her whole body felt full of unshed tears. The terrible night between them of mingled pain and pleasure, wrong and lust, anger and apology, seemed petty in the face of the almost certain death before them. Hermione reached out and laid tentative fingertips on Snape's thin cheek.

"I'm coming."

To Hermione's surprise, his eyes closed briefly in a kind of profound relief. But when he looked at her again, it was with his usual impassive gaze. "Pack," he said.

She turned to go, making a mental list of what they might need, and he began adding detail. "We'll be going to Wiltshire. We'll Apparate to outside of Gloucester, then start on foot, no magic and no fires. I don't want us seen. I'll bring shelter. Go get warm clothing, some food, and Dumbledore's gifts. Pack light, and come back here quickly. We haven't much time."

"What are you—"

"I'll explain more later," he cut in impatiently.

Some moments later, Hermione knocked at Snape's office door wearing her warmest cloak, several layers of clothing, and the rest of her supplies stuffed in the toe of a sock and stuffed in her jeans pocket. She had twisted her hair into a bun and pinned it low on her neck, hidden under her hood. The door creaked open a few inches to reveal Snape's tall form and forbidding face. When he saw Hermione, he moved aside to let her slide by. His eyes traveled over her quickly.

"Where's the rest?"

She produced the sock. Snape opened it, took quick stock of its contents, and handed it back. He looked her over once more and gave a quick nod of approval.

"If we're lucky, this may do."

"Why no magic?" she couldn't help asking.

He looked her full in the face, giving away no expression. "I want a full day and night uninterrupted with you."


	9. Giant's Dance

They marched through Gloucester, their cloaks fluttering in the cold wind, neither of them speaking

They marched through Gloucester, their cloaks fluttering in the cold wind, neither of them speaking. Snape kept them close to forests and copses of trees. The weather was gray and windy with flecks of snow. Few other people were about. When lunchtime arrived, they ate as they walked, not bothering to stop. Hermione began to feel numb. The cold became more piercing. Occasionally Snape would guide her one way or another by putting a hand on her elbow or by pointing, but otherwise, they communicated not at all.

After hours of silent walking, Hermione noticed that they were hiking in an open plain, making no effort to hide. She glanced questioningly at Snape, but he was continuing on, looking straight ahead.

"Do you recognize where we are, Miss Granger?" He sounded as if he were back in class, delivering a lecture.

At that moment they crested a small rise and the plain spread out below them, subdued wheaten gold under a bruised sky. The sun was beginning to sink. Off to her left, Hermione saw some strangely shaped boulders.

"Salisbury Plain!"

Snape nodded.

"Sir, why are we walking in the open?"

"There's no other way to get there, unless we use magic. And out in the open like this, I won't risk it."

"Where are we going?"

Snape cocked his head toward the boulders.

"To Stonehenge?" Hermione could not keep the note of incredulity out of her voice.

Snape gave her one of his fathomless stares. "Where else? There's plenty of magic there. It will magnify what we have. No one will find us there, no matter how hard they search."

He took her wrist and pulled her down the plain. Hermione was so numb with cold, she could no longer feel her legs. She stumbled after him until he slowed his pace. They approached Stonehenge as the sun dipped over one of the lintels. Hermione shivered. They rounded the wrought iron perimeter of the stone formation and approached the pay booth, but no one was inside. Snape held his wand to the locked wrought iron gate, and it fell open. They were within the fence, separated from Stonehenge by just a rope barrier now. Snape craned his head upward, scanning the darkening clouds. At last he said, "We'll set up camp here."

He stepped over the rope and moved to the middle of the henge. Hermione followed, feeling almost done in from cold and fatigue. Snape took her arm in one hand and his wand in the other and began chanting the protective spells, some of which Hermione had never heard before. When he finished, she ventured, "What were all those spells? I didn't recognize them all."

Snape gazed at her for a second. Then he brushed her cheek with his thumb and said in an off-hand voice, "I know Snatchers and Death Eaters. And I don't want to encounter any tonight." He turned away as if afraid he had said too much.

The sun had turned red and was sinking rapidly into the horizon. With its loss, the wind picked up, and the cold drove through them, sharp like flint. Snape waved his wand. Nothing seemed to happen. But he reached out and pulled an entire piece of the scenery aside like cloth. Hermione found herself gazing into the interior of a roomy tent whose exterior blended perfectly with its surroundings. She felt so tired and cold, she couldn't immediately move.

Snape glanced at her, then draped an arm around her waist and pulled her into shelter. Once inside the dark interior, she tiredly conjured her blue flames. Something flickered in Snape's eyes.

"Those flames look familiar," he drawled. "I seem to remember my robes catching fire with blue flame during a Quidditch match when Quirrell taught Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Hermione closed her eyes with shame at the memory. Snape had been saving Harry's life while Professor Quirrell was trying to kill Harry, but she hadn't realized it at the time. "Th-that was a long time ago, sir. I thought you were hexing Harry. I know that's not true now. Please forgive me."

Snape blinked in surprise. Obviously, he had expected some argumentative response. Then he somehow seemed to relax. He waved his wand, and Hermione's blue flames leapt higher, turned a normal flame color, and began to crackle pleasantly.

"I thought, no fires, no magic—" Hermione began.

"We can't be seen here," he said. "And you're freezing. Do you have the food?"

Hermione pulled her sock out of her jeans pocket and began laying out dinner: bread, cheese, some pears, some sweet rolls, a canteen of water and one of wine. "I didn't pack anything that could go bad," she said apologetically.

Snape grunted non-committally. He reached for the bread, tore it in two, and gave one half to Hermione. For the next several minutes, they ate and drank without interruption, setting to the task with the single-mindedness of the famished. Whenever something looked close to running out, one or the other of them waved a wand at it to replenish the stock. When Hermione could eat no more, she turned to Snape and with a jolt, found his glittering black eyes already trained on her.

"Come here," he said.

She could not tear her eyes away. She slid close to him, and he pulled her brusquely into the crook of his arm. For a moment, they sat together without speaking. A camp bed big enough for two stood just behind them. Then he said, "You know what might happen tomorrow." As usual, he was not asking a question, but stating what he viewed to be the obvious.

Hermione nodded. Snape would be lying to Death Eaters and Voldemort, putting himself in mortal danger. "Are you still doing it…for her?" she couldn't stop herself from asking.

Snape stared at the leaping flames. "I told you once that I did," he said at last. "It's partly true. I've missed her every day she's been gone, even if she was James Potter's wife. And I've lived knowing that she would still be alive if it hadn't been for me—"

"I'm sure that's not true!" Hermione broke in, but he waved her off.

"I need to put paid to my debts. Potter is his father all over again, but there are always…reminders…of what I owe his mother." He was silent then, and Hermione thought he would not speak any more. But after a long, elastic moment, he continued, "But that's the past. I cannot change it. You, though," he turned to her, his thin face wary, "you are my future. I've pushed you away and tried to tell myself it was just a passing fancy. It's come to no good. Here we are, alone on Salisbury Plain the night before a terrible tomorrow, and I won't lie to you. I owe you that much, at least. You're my future if you wish it so. And if we survive tomorrow, I will give you a real ring."

The words crashed over Hermione, making her spirit soar. "Then there's something you have to tell me," she said.

He nodded once, still wary.

"What will you give to keep me?"

"Give?" He hesitated a moment, and Hermione thought he might balk and say he'd given enough. "Anything," he said at last.

Hermione's heart flooded with happiness, despite the cold and dread. Her mouth and his melted together.


End file.
